


finally (safe for me to fall)

by chthonicheart



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Finals Week, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, of romcom level proportions, probably the fluffiest thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chthonicheart/pseuds/chthonicheart
Summary: “Um, rude,” the man says, and his voice is nice to listen to despite how incredulous he sounds. Patrick loves it. “If I would have known you only wanted to pass to steal from me like a dirty con artist, I would have ignored you like I originally planned.”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 38
Kudos: 405





	finally (safe for me to fall)

**Author's Note:**

> so, fun fact, this started as a distraction-based self indulgent fic that i would hope would give me the final kick i needed to finish two other patrick/david fics i'm writing, and like, don't get me wrong, that really did help but also this grew legs and is nearly seven thousand words and i have no idea what i'm doing with my life anymore jfsdhg 
> 
> anyway!! i hope you enjoy this! please let me know what you think! and also be gentle as this is only my second fic for them, so i may take a second to find my groove with them ;w;
> 
> this was written off of [this]() tumblr au prompt. 
> 
> beta'd by @ignisgayentia and @mariss_ugh, tyvm for looking this over for me!!

  
  


Patrick has not slept a single wink in over two days. 

Two days, six hours, and forty-three minutes, to be exact. But who’s counting? 

He knew double majoring in undergrad would likely murder him on top of his extracurriculars, but he truly had not known  _ just _ how painful it would actually turn out to be. Patrick can’t really remember what actual sleep feels like, and at this point, he’s almost too afraid to ask. Or test it out for himself.

So, here he is. Suffering. 

For the last two days, six hours, and forty-four minutes, Patrick has been drowning in the first drafts of his thesis work. He’s only just now reached a stopping point that doesn’t make him feel guilty for abandoning his business thesis in the middle of the first draft, which is godsent. The words are blurring together on the page, and he can’t be entirely sure he hasn’t just been reading gibberish for the last half hour. 

The only thing preventing him from dissolving into dust from the stress alone is knowing that he’s already well into the second draft of his communications thesis, which is good. Better than good, really. 

Patrick  _ desperately _ needs a break, a break that comes in the form of late-night food and the welcome slap of cold air on his face. 

The local convenience market is only a couple blocks away from the small student apartment he shares with his roommate, Ted. Ted isn’t in the living room when Patrick emerges from his cave (room), and he allows himself to breathe a small sigh of relief at the silence. Ted’s wonderful, practically the best roommate a senior in college could ask for, really. But Patrick thinks he might just burst into tears if forced to converse with other people right now. Patrick’s also pretty sure he’s as close to rock bottom as he’ll ever get as well, which is frankly, a little comforting. 

Patrick grabs his keys from the small table near their front door and one of his thicker coats to protect himself from the chill waiting for him outside. He may be a sleep-deprived, overworked college student, but he’s not  _ dumb _ . He pats his pockets to make sure he has his phone and wallet before heading out the door, forgoing a tuque after debating it for a few seconds. 

Maybe the bite of cold on his face will wake him up a little.

Patrick’s lived in Toronto for the last four years, but still feels surprised by how beautiful it can be. Especially at night, when the blanket of darkness allows the contrast of moonlight to kiss everything it touches. The only artistic ability Patrick’s ever possessed is innately  _ musical _ , but nothing inspires his artistic curiosity like the city he’s grown to love so much. 

The crunch of gravel sounds beneath his feet as he rounds the corner, the 24-hour convenience mart a beacon of blinding light. 

Patrick heads for the cereal aisle as soon as he enters through the automatic doors. He needs something sugary, preferably as unhealthy as possible for a proper mid-revision pick-me-up. If he has any hope of making it through the next few hours without passing out, he’s already going to need all the help he can get.

And then some.

Maybe he should pick up some more tea, in that case. Something stronger than what he usually drinks. Patrick makes the mental note to pick some up before checking out, allowing his eyes to scan the shelves for what cereal they have stocked. 

There’s only one other person in the cereal aisle. Patrick allows his gaze to linger, ‘cause, well, it’s not like anyone would  _ blame _ him. The man is tall, a few inches taller than Patrick (and if he notes it with a thrill he can’t quite place, then that’s something to examine more closely at a later date) and despite it being three in the morning, the man looks like he stepped right out of a magazine. Maybe. It’s not like Patrick’s ever actually read one of those magazines, but he’s sure whatever that means, this man encapsulates. There are thick-framed glasses on his face, no doubt in an effort to hide how red his eyes are underneath them. 

He’s beautiful, he’s  _ gorgeous _ , easily the most attractive man Patrick has ever seen, and Toronto is full of beautiful people who test that limit daily. Something tells Patrick that may not be a thing anymore since he’s not sure how anyone could compare to this man, now that he’s seen him. It’s not a thought Patrick should have in the cereal aisle, about a man he hasn't said a word to, but apparently that’s how Patrick is now. 

“Uh, excuse me,” Patrick murmurs, voice soft as he tries to step in front of the taller man. The last box of cinnamon toast crunch in front of the man has his name on it, and not even this stupidly attractive man is going to stand in their way. 

The man grunts in annoyance but allows Patrick to pass in front of him. He smiles in thanks, too exhausted to do much else, and reaches for his prized box of cinnamon toast crunch that has absolutely been calling his name. 

Later, if asked, he’ll blame his post-coursework brain fog and general lethargy for his slow reflexes. Honestly, though, Patrick just doesn’t realize there’s another hand reaching for that very same blessed box until he looks up to see the very attractive man from earlier glaring at him. 

“Um, rude,” the man says, and his voice is nice to listen to despite how incredulous he sounds. Patrick loves it. “If I would have known you only wanted to pass to  _ steal from me  _ like a dirty con artist, I would have ignored you like I originally planned.” 

Patrick’s brain takes a few minutes to catch up. 

“ _ Stealing from you?  _ I believe all groceries are property of the grocery store until bought, actually. Especially when they’re still on the shelf,” he points out, unable to bite back his amusement. 

“You very clearly saw me reaching for them before pulling your little con to get me to move.” 

Patrick has to laugh at that. 

“ _ What _ ?” 

“This is obviously all a long con to deprive a very stressed and high-strung fashion major the night before his big showing, isn’t it?” 

“You’re a fashion major?” Patrick asks, intrigued. 

“ _ Obviously _ ,” the man replies, with an exaggerated eye-roll. 

“Fair enough.” 

His eyes narrow. “Did Stevie put you up to this?” 

Patrick has no idea who Stevie is, but…

“What happens if I were to say yes?” 

“Ugh. Nevermind. I don’t know if Stevie would ever willingly befriend someone who is unmistakably a business major. Even if it was just to fuck with me.”

Patrick laughs. “Well, I’m actually double majoring,” corrects Patrick. He doesn’t want to think too hard about the picture they make, two overly stubborn dudes staring each other down, both with one hand on the same damn box of cereal. It’d probably be almost funny, if Patrick weren’t busy weighing the merits of taking the cereal and making a break for it versus maybe asking for the man’s number. Despite the fact that he’s  _ never _ simply asked a man for his number before. 

Though this is hardly the first time he’s wanted to. 

At least, not like this. Not a man he very much wants to take out for dinner at the very least. 

“And? Are neither of them business, then?” the man in question asks, letting out an (endearing) annoyed breath. 

Patrick’s cheeks flush. “Yes.” 

“Then my point still stands,” the man replies, eyes glinting back at Patrick in a way he can’t entirely pinpoint. “I have better things to do than stare down some guy like this. Just give me the cereal box. I’m sure someone with your palette would  _ much _ prefer the plain cornflakes instead, anyway.” 

“Oh? And what palette is this that you speak of?” Patrick asks. 

He’s never found someone’s irritability so charming before. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, maybe he’s finally understanding the appeal of pulling pigtails, or maybe it’s something else entirely. All he knows is that he’s never felt the urge to push someone’s buttons so much before, to encourage that very same someone to push his own buttons in turn. 

It’s intoxicating.

Granted, that could easily be the sleep deprivation talking, but Patrick doesn’t think it is. 

This feels  _ real _ , in a way attraction has never felt to him. Tangible. For the first time, this… thing, whatever it is, feels real. 

It feels like his. 

“Well, for one, your look is  _ very _ casual chic with a business twist, which, you know, shouldn’t work. But weirdly does?” 

Patrick raises an eyebrow in confusion, but indulges the man nonetheless and looks down at himself.

Oh. 

_ Oh _ . Shit. 

Patrick looks like a moron. He thought he’d grabbed his jeans on the way out, but apparently he’d grabbed a pair of flannel sleep pants instead. The button-down that he’d never taken off after getting back from the coffee shop for an early evening tea run is, of course, tucked into said sleep pants rather sloppily. He can feel his cheeks heating up further in response to how  _ stupid _ he looks, though he forces himself to ignore it. Oh well. He’s sure this very market has seen way worse than what he’s presented them tonight. Finals week does tend to bring out the very best (worst) in people. 

“This is why it’s a horrible idea to think you can make yourself presentable after crying through the first draft of a thesis paper,” Patrick says, solemnly. The tears are only metaphorical, but they’ve had a lasting impact on Patrick’s psyche, so it feels fair to mention them. 

“Oh, wow,” the guy says, eyebrows furrowing. “That’s -- that’s a  _ lot _ to unpack.” 

Patrick grins, a bit unhinged. “Yeah. I’ve been awake for two days and counting, and I am very hungry and in desperate need of sugar,” he explains. He tightens his grip on the box, watching in bemusement as the other guy does the same. This isn’t going to be as easy as he thought. He might have to play dirty here. As dirty as one can for a box of cereal. “If you really want it, then I guess we have no choice but to settle this fairly.” 

“And what does that entail, exactly?” 

“You, me. An arm-wrestling match. Right now,” Patrick says, grin shifting to a just-the-side-of-smug smirk. “The winner gets the box fair and square, the loser has to get something else.” 

The man scoffs. “I see your muscles through your shirt. I’m not dumb enough to fall for that.” 

Patrick tries to ignore the pleasure that licks up his spine at the blatant appreciation dripping from the man’s tone, but can’t feel too disappointed when he fails. Though this Stevie might not appreciate business majors, something tells Patrick that this man just might. 

“Aw, come on. Would I really set you up for definitive failure like that?” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know you.” 

“Patrick.” 

“Uh, okay?” 

“My name. It’s Patrick,” he says, holding out a hand for the man to shake if he wants. The man doesn’t move for several moments, eyes flickering in quick succession between his face and outstretched hand in unfiltered disbelief. Patrick almost withdraws his hand, but thankfully, a hand is wrapping around his own before he can. 

A big, warm, very soft hand. A hand that Patrick already knows he wants to feel so much more of. 

“David,” the man --  _ David,  _ David, David -- introduces. 

“Great. Nice to meet you, David. How about that arm wrestle match now, hm? As much as I would like to continue this cereal standoff, I do have things to do before I pass out for the next fourteen hours.” 

David’s mouth quirks up into a smile, which the man immediately beats back down to a grimace through sheer strength alone. Patrick wishes he were awake enough to fully appreciate David’s expressive face. 

“That sounds very personal, and I’m genuinely sorry for you. I, on the other hand, welcome any break from my soul-sucking final project, so I wouldn’t mind camping out here for the next few hours.”

Patrick has to admire David’s dedication to making this as difficult as possible. 

“There’s no way I could convince you to let me take the box?” Patrick asks, a touch too hopefully. 

David smirks. “Mm, I don’t think so, no.” 

“I could pay for your  _ new and unrelated _ cereal, maybe?” 

“Nope.”

He shrugs. “We could always split it?” 

“Mmm-hmmm,” hums David, non-committedly. “Or you could be the polite little gentleman I know that you secretly are and let me just… take it off your hands.” 

“How about I do you one even better, David? What if I pay for it  _ and _ we split it?” 

It’s stupid; ridiculous, far too soon, far more impulsive than he ever allows himself to be, but Patrick can’t help but want to invite David back to his apartment. Whether only to split it up evenly or share a bowl at the tiny table in his kitchen, Patrick isn’t picky. While he didn’t plan for a break so long, he can’t say he’d mind the time lost. David is fascinating and gorgeous, and so, so very alive in a way he’s not used to. 

It’s on the tip of his tongue. Asking David to come back to his apartment so they can share a bowl, oversharing and overenthusiastic roommates be damned. 

Patrick doesn’t, if only because David opens his mouth first. 

“What are the GRs?” 

“The what?” Patrick asks on a laugh. 

“The ground rules,” David explains, slowly. “Of splitting the box. Just in case it isn’t clear, I’m definitely passing on the arm wrestling. Like,  _ hard _ passing. No thanks.” 

“I’m not a fan of wasting money, so we’d have to go back to my apartment for the Ziplocs.” 

“This is either a meet-cute or the most elaborate premeditation to murder on record,” David muses to himself. 

Patrick laughs. “Meet-cute?” 

“Like, in all the great romcoms,” David explains. 

“Ah,” Patrick says. “I’m full up on my murdering quota for the foreseeable forever...so.” 

“Surprisingly, that isn’t as comforting as one would think,” David says, mouth twisting up into a smile. “But, okay.” 

Patrick breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I was starting to worry I’d have to actually burst into tears to reach a compromise with you.” 

David clicks his tongue. “Don’t worry, unlike my mother I’m not in the business of making grown men cry.” 

“Well, thank god for that. I’m much cuter when I’m not crying.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


\------ 

  
  
  
  
  


Patrick had never considered just how much more beautiful walking down the streets of Toronto would be when he had someone to share it with. 

The streets he already holds in such high regard blossom in front of him in endless possibilities he’d never been privy to before. David is chattering beside him, hands moving in a blur as he lets the story about his family flow from his lips. Patrick knows they’ve only just met but he thinks he could stay here forever, that if David would only let him he'd find himself in this very position again and again. 

“Are you even listening to me?” David asks, cutting off his story and breaking through the reverie Patrick found himself lost in. 

“As if anything could distract me from a story about your sister’s summer-long romantic tryst with  _ the _ Joe Jonas.”

David’s eyes narrow. “Do you even know who Joe Jonas is?” 

“Um,  _ duh _ ,” Patrick says. “Only the middle quasi bad-boy Jonas brother who captured the hearts of teenagers across the world?” 

“Don’t tell me you were one of those teenagers in question, Patrick. I thought you had more self-respect than that.” 

Patrick laughs. “Unfortunately, I never had the pleasure. My cousin Maddy, however, was very much one of those very teenagers.” 

“Hm. I guess that’s acceptable then,” David replies, just as they round the corner of Patrick’s street. 

“So magnanimous,” Patrick teases. 

“Yes, well. I’ve been told I’m a very generous person, so.” 

“Mm, I’m sure. This is us,” Patrick replies, stopping in front of one of the nondescript student housing buildings. It’s an old river rock covered three-story apartment. It’s certainly not the most updated on the block, but it has a coziness that Patrick finds reminds him a lot of home. He’s not sure it’s up to David’s standards, but his face is open enough as he comes to a stop next to Patrick. 

“This is...charming,” David says. 

“And yet something tells me you’re fighting your gag reflex back.” 

David scoffs. “Um, yeah, haven’t had one of those in a few years, but no, it’s cute...quaint.”

And Patrick?

Well, Patrick’s brain definitely short circuits at that.

He doesn’t know if David is simply the kind of man who slips something like that so effortlessly into the conversation -- he can tell David is many things, but ashamed of the way he expresses himself is definitely not one of them, which Patrick really loves. Maybe more than he really understands -- or if he’s putting out feelers. 

Patrick hopes it’s both. 

Either way, the words cause his throat to close up momentarily, and by the time he finally has that back under control, David is very obviously hiding a smirk. 

“Uh, sorry, what were we talking about again?” 

The melody of David’s laughter is the only answer he gets for a few moments. 

Patrick doesn’t mind. 

“I believe we were talking about you giving me a tour of your apartment when we get there. Does that sound fair to you?” 

It does. 

“Mmm, even better. Though I’m not sure if my roommate would appreciate the rude awakening if he’s not at his girlfriend’s.” 

“A tour of the apartment  _ except _ for that.” 

Patrick laughs. “Perfect. Shall we?” 

David hums. “Mhm. Lets.”

  
  
  
  


\-------

  
  
  
  
  
  


Ted is, in fact, at his girlfriend’s for the night. 

“I’m almost a little glad Ted’s not here for the night,” Patrick says and he shows David around their tiny kitchen. It includes a single peninsula counter, a row of cabinets on the top and bottom, and a fridge barely big enough to not be classified as a mini-fridge. Patrick, for once, doesn’t mind how small it is. They’re standing close enough that the heat of David’s body alone is distracting in itself.

He’s never had this issue before. Patrick can’t deny the giddiness that hides in his chest at the thought. 

“Wow,” David sighs, and he actually sounds a little shocked. 

“I know, I was shocked by how small this kitchen was the first time I saw it as well.” 

“No, it’s not that. I’m just weighing the odds of Ted being the same Ted who is currently over at the apartment my sister and I share.” 

Patrick laughs. After tonight he’s not sure he’ll believe in much else  _ but _ the power of coincidences and seemingly unconnected threads. He’s not sure that’s something he can really say to David, at least not yet, so he keeps that to himself. 

“Depends. Does your sister happen to be a bubbly blonde named Alexis?” 

David shudders. “Ugh. Yes, that’s her.” 

Patrick grins, and because he knows it’ll cause David to make a cute face, says, “Mm. Now that you mention it, I definitely see the family resemblance.” 

“ _ Wow _ .” 

“Just calling it as I see it, David.” Patrick’s smile softens as he squeezes past David to grab the Ziplocs they keep in the drawer beside the fridge. “Would you like to have a bowl now? Or am I being too mean to you?” 

David sighs. “Not enough for me to turn down free food,” he replies. “I hope you know this is getting taken out of your half.” 

“Of course,” Patrick agrees, solemnly. “I can make that sacrifice.” 

“Then yes. I would very much like to have a bowl right now,” says David, biting down on a smile trying valiantly to break free. 

“Awesome. Feel free to make yourself comfortable,” Patrick tells him. Patrick immediately moves to grab the milk from the fridge, two bowls, and a couple of spoons from their appropriate places, though he stops when he hears David clear his throat behind him. 

“Oh God. Patrick, please tell me you’re not one of those heathens that pours milk before the cereal.” 

Patrick  _ isn’t _ , actually, but he feels his lips twitch in response to the horrified tone. 

“I can be, for tonight, if that’s what you’d prefer,” Patrick teases. 

“I would  _ rather _ have a romantic dinner with Spencer Pratt.” 

“I have no idea who that is.” 

David sighs. “Count yourself fortunate, then.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

“And then some.”

After pouring their cereal -- enough cereal to constitute at least half of Patrick’s portion, but he’s finding it hard to care when met with David’s appreciative eyebrows staring back at him -- Patrick leads them both to the living room. It’s only big enough to house the couch and matching loveseat they found on the side of the road and the small entertainment center below their TV. Some of Ted’s veterinarian textbooks are on one of the side tables and Patrick nods at them as they take a seat. They both choose the loveseat, thighs brushing together. It’s enough for Patrick to feel confident enough to press into the contact after they’ve settled, and feels a small thrill when David doesn’t pull away from the touch. 

“You said you were working on your final project too?” Patrick asks, once they’ve both taken a few bites. 

“Oh, yeah,” David says. “We have to essentially create our own fashion line and store, with at least three tangible samples.”

“That… sounds like a lot.” 

David looks surprised. “It is, yeah. We’ve had all year to work on it, though. So it hasn’t been  _ that _ bad.” 

“Still. Sounds stressful. No wonder you were so willing to stare me down earlier,” Patrick jokes. 

“See, now I’m getting the distinct impression you’ve stepped away from being sweet and are now making fun of me again.” 

Patrick knocks their knees together. He was joking, but not about that, and he’s not about to let David believe that lie for a second. “No, David. It really does sound like a lot of work,” he says, earnestly. 

“I’m not used to people taking my major seriously,” David explains. “Usually they’re too busy telling me it was a mistake to minor in art history instead.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “So? Let them talk. Your major is your own,” he says. He takes another bite of cereal, sighing softly. He had no idea this is where he would end up when he finally dragged himself away from his desk not even an hour ago, but he’s still grateful it’s where he is. David is like no one he’s ever met, understated and guarded while completely throwing himself out there in every regard. “I don’t understand fashion but… I know it’s more work than most people would think at first.” 

“Yeah, I kind of got that when you showed up in flannel pajama pants.” 

Patrick laughs. “Oh? I think I remember you saying it was charming.” 

“Mm. Is that what I said, though? I think I recall saying it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.” 

“That’s pretty much the same thing, wouldn’t you say?” Patrick goads. 

David doesn’t agree with him, but he also doesn’t  _ disagree _ , so Patrick takes it as a win. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


\-------

  
  
  
  
  


Their bowls are licked clean (figuratively speaking, of course), the sun is starting to peek in through the cracks of the blinds and Patrick knows their time together is rapidly coming to an end. 

And he  _ still _ hasn’t found the right time to ask David out on a proper date. 

As it turns out, asking someone out is much more nerve-wracking when you actually care whether or not they say yes, and Patrick is not as equipped to deal with rejection as he thought he was. Or maybe it’s just rejection from David that seems so daunting. They turned the TV on midway through their first bowl, though you couldn’t pay Patrick to say what they’ve been watching the whole time. The conversation between them flowed naturally, and when it didn’t, it hardly felt like the slightly uncomfortable silence one might expect when hanging out with someone for the first time. 

Patrick doesn’t want to think about how far this has set him back in his thesis work. He doesn’t want to think about having to go back to it, either, once David leaves. 

“I should probably go,” David says. “This was fun. But I do have to make more progress on my project if I have any hope of finishing it by the end of the week.”

Patrick swallows his disappointment. David is  _ right _ , regardless of how Patrick wishes he wasn’t. As cute as David is, he can’t allow the other man to distract him too much. At least not until he’s made more headway on his work. 

“Yeah,” Patrick replies. “Thank you.” 

“For what?”

“For making thesis work more bearable. I don’t know if I would have survived this weekend without the reprieve.” 

David bites down on another smile. “This… helped me, too, Patrick.” 

“Good,” Patrick says. 

_ Just ask him for his number, Brewer _ .

Patrick swallows. This would be so much easier if he had an actual business card. “We should exchange numbers,” he blurts, wincing once the words that escape fully register. “To reschedule that arm-wrestling match,” Patrick adds on, so he doesn’t say  _ so I know you made it wherever you’re going okay _ instead. 

That gets a full-on laugh out of David, which predictably, sends goosebumps breaking out over Patrick’s forearms. He almost wishes he was alone so he could run his fingers across them, but not enough to do anything about it. 

“Are these conditions non-negotiable?” David asks. 

Patrick raises an eyebrow in question. “Why do you ask?” 

“Well, I’m very interested in possibly texting you, but arm wrestling, again, isn’t really my thing, so…”

“I can certainly forget about that part if you think you can as well,” teases Patrick. Patrick fishes his phone out of his pocket then, unlocking it quickly before handing it over to David, a shadow of a hopeful smile playing at his lips. 

David takes it, inputting what Patrick  _ hopes _ is his actual number. He knows himself well enough to know he’ll be testing it out before David’s even fully out the door. 

“Don’t forget your cereal on the table,” Patrick tells him. 

David nods, giving Patrick’s phone back as he does. Once David grabs the cereal, there’s really no excuse for him to linger the way he does. The taller man -- which  _ still  _ sends a thrill up Patrick’s spine -- makes an aborted move as they stare each other down, like he was going to do something but then thought better of it. David’s eyes flicker towards his, brown eyes unreadable despite how warm they are. 

“I guess, um, I guess I’ll see you around? You should text me. I gave you my actual number this time, so it’d be a waste if you didn’t.” 

Patrick laughs, unlocking his phone so he can scroll through his contacts until he finds David’s name in his contacts. 

‘ _ David 💫💅’  _

He has to bite back a truly ridiculous smile when he sees David’s contact is one, actually there and two, apparently accompanied by an  _ emoji _ , of all things. Why is an emoji making his heart pound like this? 

**To: David  
** This is me, Patrick. Texting you. Like you asked. Now you have my number, too. :-) 

Patrick absolutely does not let out a noise when he hears David’s phone vibrate in his pocket a few moments later. 

“Problem successfully avoided.” 

David’s eyebrows smile at him. He had no idea eyebrows had that kind of power, but David is teaching him all sorts of things tonight, it seems. 

“Great. I’m just gonna, uh,” David trails off, and after another handful of uncomfortable moments staring at each other, David turns towards the door. 

He’s halfway there when Patrick finds his voice again. 

“Goodnight, David.” 

David smiles at him over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Patrick.” 

It’s dramatic, hardly logical, but he swears that maybe, just maybe, a part of himself, no matter how small, breaks away as soon as he loses sight of David. 

  
  
  
  
  
\------

  
  
  
  


Patrick busies himself with cleaning up the kitchen. 

He’s just washed their bowls out and left them out on the rack to dry when his phone chimes at him on the counter. Patrick raises an eyebrow at it, figures it’s one of his parents checking in on him, but wipes his hands on the nearest towel nonetheless. 

He’s knocked nearly breathless when he sees a text from David. 

**From: David  
** come outside???

Patrick’s heart pounds. He checks the time, sees David’s only been gone for five minutes. 

He never even left. 

He slides his phone in his pocket and his fingers shake when he opens his front door. David is directly in front of it, leaning against the wall, the very picture of fabricated nonchalance. Patrick has never been so happy to see him and in his limited experience, he's generally been pretty stoked around him already. 

"David," Patrick breathes. 

"Hi," David says, and this time he makes no move to try to contain the smile that captures his face. 

"Hi," says Patrick. "You stayed."

David’s mouth scrunches to the left side, an expression that Patrick is starting to understand means David’s beaming at him. 

“I did,” David replies. “Can -- Can I try something? Would that be okay?” 

Patrick’s nodding before he’s fully processed the question. “Yeah, of course, David. You can try whatever you’d like.” 

David’s face opens up, and if Patrick thought he was beaming before, there’s absolutely no question about it now. David’s face is like the sun, bright and open and painful to look at but he’ll be damned if he looks anywhere else right now. David is always beautiful, of that Patrick has no doubt, but seeing him like this is something to behold. Patrick watches as David steps closer to him, first fumbling, but the closer he gets the surer his legs seem to get. 

The shock of David’s arms coming to his shoulders still electrifies him even though he watches him approach, the breath stuttering right out of him. Patrick leans into the touch, hands itching to come up to rest on David’s hips. He doesn’t know what this means, though, knows what he  _ hopes _ it means, but not for the first time tonight Patrick finds himself frozen. 

David’s face leans in, eyelashes fanning against soft skin as he closes his eyes. Patrick has barely a moment, a split second to chant  _ he's going to kiss me, oh god he's actually going to kiss me  _ before David is, actually, kissing him. 

Patrick isn't responsible for the sound he makes against David's mouth. It's the product of too much repression and drinking in a kiss that makes him see stars for the first time. Patrick had thought that was just one of those  _ things _ , that Hollywood and other people told themselves to make love this big grand adventure the real thing could never fully live up to. 

Patrick’s been wrong. 

Patrick’s been so entirely wrong, and he had no idea kissing someone could  _ feel _ like this. He’s always liked kissing, objectively speaking, but he’s never had that moment where he thought he could kiss someone forever.

Until now. 

Patrick can easily find himself kissing David forever and still thirst for exactly this. His hands, which have been rising to hover over David’s hips to falling back to his sides in jerky, abortive movements finally settle on David. The man shudders beneath Patrick’s touch, sending a surge of arousal so strong the force of it has his knees buckling. 

“You okay?” David asks, pulling away from his mouth. 

Patrick’s still seeing stars, a little bit, but he nods. “I’m amazing. I never -- I’ve never…” 

Understanding dawns over David’s face, though the arch of his eyebrows goes a little guarded. “Ah. First time kissing a guy?” 

Patrick swallows. 

“Yes. Yeah.” 

“Oh.” David takes a breath, and then another, eyes raising to meet Patrick’s again.

“I would really like to take you out on a date, David,” Patrick says. 

“What?” 

“I’m sure about this,” Patrick says, and for a moment he has to wonder how many Straight Boy Experiments David’s been a part of for him to be watching Patrick like he’s expecting disappointment here, too. Patrick doesn’t like that look on David’s face at all. 

David bites his lip on another sweet smile, dark chocolate eyes warming considerably once again. 

“Who says I want to go on a date with you?” asks David, though he’s leaning into Patrick’s space again, mischief playing on his lips. 

Patrick laughs. He finds himself meeting David, inch for inch, like the center of gravity between them is always going to be somewhere they can meet right in the middle. 

“Well, we did just share two very romantic bowls of cereal together, and you also just kissed me. So, I’m feeling pretty good about my chances. Unless you always kiss the boys you meet at three am, in which case I’d still like to take you on a date anyway.” 

“Really? Even if I kissed  _ all _ the boys I meet?” 

“Hm. Then I suppose I’ll count myself lucky to be among the masses and ask if you’ve ever been known to kiss the same boy twice,” Patrick whispers. 

Their lips are barely centimeters apart now, the scratchy-soft whisper of David’s stubble rubbing against the (pathetic) attempt at facial hair growing on Patrick’s face. He resists the urge to nuzzle into David’s face like a cat, because that would definitely be weird.

“I think I can make an exception this time,” David murmurs, and then fireworks are exploding behind Patrick’s eyelids and on the tip of his tongue. 

  
  
  
  
  


\------

  
  
  
  


Patrick doesn’t know how long they stand there, exchanging soft, exploratory kisses in the sliver of light coming in from Patrick’s apartment, but his lips are bruised and tingling when they pull away. He doesn’t know if it’s the whirlwind of the last few hours, or if it’s being up for nearly three days, but he notes, with no small amount of mortification, that his eyes are full of tears. 

“Thank you,” Patrick whispers. “I wasn’t sure -- I don’t think I would have had the strength to ask you out if you hadn’t stayed.” 

David kisses the same boy once again. 

“Thrice,” David whispers, once they pull away, white teeth glittering at him through his grin. “Make it a fourth?” 

Patrick does. 

“I really should go,” David says. He leans in to press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

Patrick grins. “When can I see you again?” 

“My final project is due on Friday,” David answers. “So anytime after that, unless…” 

Patrick doesn’t want to know just how much eagerness enters his expression. 

“Unless?” 

“Well, is your thesis work or whatever easy to move?” 

Patrick has a feeling he knows where this is going, and make no move to suppress his grin. “It’s just my laptop and a few textbooks, so, yes, it’s very easy to move, now that you mention it.” 

“In that case, my studio has a very comfortable couch and is  _ very _ conducive to productive energy. If... if you wanted to join me.”

“I would be honored to see  _ the _ David Last Name’s coveted studio space. Let me grab my things and then we can go?” 

Patrick moves back into his apartment before David can answer him, filled with a giddiness he’s not sure he can even really process. David came back, David  _ kissed  _ him, so many times that the pressure of his lips are still there like an imprint. Patrick has never felt happiness like this, floating around his room as he collects his laptop, the few textbooks and the student notebook he uses for his notes. 

Patrick’s eyes fall on the rest of his cereal on the small kitchen table on his way to the front door, and stops. He debates for a half a second before he’s rushing forward to grab it, making sure to throw in a couple of bowls, a pair of spoons, and the rest of the milk he’d shoved back in the fridge earlier. He shoves them into his messenger bag slung around his shoulder and bites his lip. He doesn’t know what it says about him that he’s already prepared to share the rest of his share with David at his studio, but he can’t say he really minds. 

Something tells him this is going to be good. Whatever this is, whatever this evolves into, it’s around to stay. Patrick doesn’t know how he knows, but he’s learning to like the person he is when he listens to his gut. 

David’s leaning in that very same spot, scrolling through his phone as he waits for him. The lanky lines of him are stretched out in front of him and Patrick’s weak. Weak for this, weak for David, weak for the way his feelings have come to life beneath the weight of his touch. He’s helpless but to crowd David up against the wall with an indulgent smile. 

“This okay?” Patrick whispers. 

“Mhm,” David hums. “More than. Especially if you--” 

Patrick cuts him off with a kiss. “A kiss?” He asks, cheekily. 

“You’re not cute. Or charming, or funny.” 

“Mmm, I don’t think that what you meant to say, is it, David?” he teases. 

“I can retract my invitation at any time,” threatens David, though they both know he’s not going to follow through on that. 

“Yeah, I’m having a great time too,” Patrick says. He pulls away from David and locks the door behind them. “Are you ready? I’ve got perishables, so…” 

All feigned annoyance immediately melts off of David’s face. “You packed food?” He asks, attempting to look around Patrick to peek into his bag. 

Adorable. 

Patrick grins. “Oh, I brought food alright,” he replies, opening his bag so David can see the supplies he brought along. 

David must understand what it means without needing to ask, because he bends forward to press a longer, sweeter kiss to Patrick’s mouth. “You know this means I essentially got the whole box of cereal anyway, right?” 

“Yeah,” Patrick says, bumping their hands together as they walk down the hall to the stairs. David’s hand catches his, lacing their fingers together. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> patrick's so smitten and writing him is such a joy because i, too, am smitten & in love with david rose 
> 
> i... may write more in this verse, as i absolutely love college aus (since i get to live vicariously through them lol) since i have a few ideas floating around... but who knows. 
> 
> feel free to shout at me on tumblr (@breweroses) if you want to chat about these two, just say hi in general, or prompt me to write something!


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